


Lovers' Drive

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Car Sex, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-09
Updated: 2006-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spike does grab Xander and Willow from the high school in s3’s “Lovers’ Walk”; from there on, things turn out differently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers' Drive

Xander winced. Pain, pain and . . . ouchiness. Okay, so he'd been hit on the head with a microscope before. That part wasn’t new. Head-swimming, the feeling of a bruise the shape of Tennessee forming on his head, and that extra special touch of nausea in the mix -- check, check, check.

Funny thing, though. He didn’t remember lab-related head trauma making him feel like he was hurtling down a highway at 100 miles an hour.

“New symptoms to add to the hurty-ness, yay,” he muttered with his eyes still closed. "Me and chemistry do not mix. Plus Willow. Me and chemistry and _Willow_ clearly leads to badness. I should just stay away from science forever and ever."

"Probably for the best," a gravelly-sounding voice agreed with him.

Xander blinked at the voice. Someone else was with him, probably locked in the utility closet like he and Buffy had been before they killed the Bezoar. Blinking at this got his eyes open, but seeing that it was dark didn’t give him much to work with in the way of surroundings. Come to think of it, it was a weird sort of dark, with little streams of light coming through…holes? Maybe they were in a box with holes, a box on the go, based on the obvious sense of forward motion, and okay, imagining himself trapped like a bug in a ventilated box on wheels wasn’t such a good way to stop that nausea.

“Okay, think, not here alone, Willow and witchery, late at night at school, British-sounding . . . Giles?” he asked uncertainly.

The voice . . . _snorted_. “Not bloody likely,” the other man said.

“What the hell is going on?” Xander exclaimed just before he rolled off onto . . .

The incredibly ancient and dirty-looking carpet liner on what was obviously the body of an old car. “Yuck,” he said absently before scrambling onto his hands and knees and then trying to back up against a door until the handle dug into his back. “We’re in a moving car!” he shouted.

There was that snort again. “Took you long enough to figure out that part. Good thing you’re pretty,” the voice observed.

Hey, look how his face burning and then draining of blood made the nausea just _blossom_.

“ _Spike_!” Xander yelped.

“Good memory there,” Spike commented. There was a flicker of light as Spike lit a cigarette. “Wasn’t sure if you’d get it right away, after I hit you. Sometimes people forget things after they go unconscious.”

“ _You_ hit me,” Xander repeated. Then, louder, “You _hit_ me! And then . . . oh god,” he continued, his voice dropping. “Willow?”

“At the factory,” Spike said in a bored voice. His shoulders wrenched to the side, and a split second later so did the car, leaving Xander to cling to the lap safety-belt and have a wild thought about the onward march of car safety regulations. “Said she’d done the spell, so I took you with me as collateral just in case. ‘spect they’ll find her there in a day or so.”

Xander choked. “You didn’t --”

“Oh, she’s alive,” Spike said.

Xander let his eyes close. “Okay.”

“Yeah, well. Never know when she might come in handy again.” Spike took a moody puff or two of his cigarette and then growled out in an admonishing tone, “Now. What do you say?”

Xander’s eyes shot open. “Are you waiting for me -- you can’t actually believe that -- you think I’m going to say ‘thank you’?”

“You’re welcome,” Spike said with some satisfaction.

Xander briefly contemplated opening the car door and hitting the road rolling to get away; the sound of tires screeching as the car in the next lane over braked to avoid smashing into Spike as he swerved to the left made him decide to put that plan off for a while. 

“Fine, so Willow is all right -- or so you say, though I don’t know why I should listen to you, since you’re a well-known evil-doer--”

“Evil doer,” Spike echoed, as if he was relishing the phrase. 

“But I’ve still got questions, most important being what the hell am I doing with you in this . . . this . . .” While Xander looked for the word, he took a better look around the car, and realized that the light sneaking in was coming through slits and missed-spots of black paint covering the glass. But it was highway night-lighting, not dawn, and he was tempted to ask how good Spike’s night-vision was before he stifled hysterical laughter. 

“DeSoto,” Spike supplied. “It’s a classic.”

“It’s a kidnapping machine!” Xander protested. 

“You don’t really stop talking when you’re awake, do you?” Spike asked.

“Why am I in a . . . DeSoto with you, bombing down the highway, and where the hell are we going?” Xander yelled.

“Brazil,” Spike said, as though this were the most obvious destination in the world.

“Oh, no. No, no,” Xander said, shaking his head to emphasize the point and cringing at himself when the action sets off bells and whistles in his brain.

“We’re in Mexico already,” Spike said in a reasonable voice.

“We are _not_ ,” Xander said in panic. 

A beat passed.

“Yeah, you’re right, we’re not.”

Xander’s mouth opened and closed several times. “You -- you --”

But Xander didn’t get a chance to think of the worst possible string of curses to hurl at Spike before he realized they were on an off-ramp and then driving through a darkened little town. “What now?” he asked in a near-shriek.

“Got to snatch a few winks,” Spike said after pulling into a deserted parking lot attached to a boarded-up store. “My head, fuck. . .” He circled behind the store. “Think I started sobering up a while back there.”

“You were driving drunk?” Xander asked in horror. “You could have killed us both!”

At this Spike laughed out loud. He inched the car into a thicket of bushes, which would, Xander realized, hide them from the road and probably from any stray beams of sunlight that could worm through the slap-dash paint-job on the windows. 

For a moment they sat there, silent.

“Right,” Spike said, and vaulted over the seat to get into the back with Xander.

“What? No! I am not your midnight snack,” Xander hissed as he yanked at the door handle in vain.

Spike hit Xander’s hand away and gave him a pointed look. “Not going to eat you. Not yet, anyway. Have to sleep, and want a bit of warmth.”

Then Xander was scrambling against the _other_ door handle, and trying that one with no success.

“Had the back doors welded shut a while back,” Spike put in. “Now calm down.”

Before Xander knew it, he was pulled from his _trying to curl as far away as possible from Spike_ position, and without further ceremony arranged facing the back of the seat, with Spike wrapped around behind him point for point. 

“Um . . .” he stammered.

“Nice,” Spike grunted. He nosed at Xander’s neck and sighed. “Like a furnace, you are. Been a while since I slept like this, having a human to warm my bed.”

“What --” Xander swallowed. “What are you going to do with me? Take me to Brazil and use me to bribe Buffy into coming to fight you on your own turf?”

There was no answer at first, and for a second Xander thought Spike must have fallen asleep. “Might do, yeah,” he said at last. “Not a bad idea.”

“Right,” Xander agreed. It sounded like an awful idea; still, it sounded like an idea that entailed him living at least for a while longer, so he didn’t want to put up a big stink about it just yet.

“Or give you to Dru as a gift,” Spike mused. “Win her back with a pretty boy, since none of the pretty girls seemed to amuse her.”

“What? No. No way. I make a terrible gift. There’s very low customer satisfaction with me,” Xander said in a hurry. “And stop calling me pretty.”

“Why?” Spike asked.

It struck Xander that he should not be _trying_ to wake Spike up for a discussion. “Forget it,” he mumbled.

Spike threw a hand over Xander’s torso and adjusted them, stopping with his lips on the nape of Xander’s neck.

Xander flicked his big and index toes against each other as his mind raced. Now was definitely the time to get away. Spike asleep was way less dangerous than Spike awake…and hungry. But with Spike snuggled up to him, he couldn’t really move without Spike feeling it. Could he? As an experiment, he tried to raise one of his legs a little. Immediately, however, Spike slid one of his legs between Xander’s, with an “Mmmmm…”

All right. That wasn’t any better. In fact, it was worse, with Spike and him literally tangled together and him pinned more closely to the back of the seat.

“Could use you to make her jealous,” Spike said suddenly.

“What?” Xander blurted.

“You know.” Spike barely moved, yet somehow he managed to undulate his entire body against Xander’s. “Give her some of her own back. Thinks she can go off with chaos demons,” he said to himself. “Besides,” he continued, raising his hand and grazing his palm over Xander’s chest. “You are a pretty thing and Drusilla is at her best when she’s gotten angry about a rival.” He kept rubbing Xander’s chest, harder now, as he appeared to consider the situation. “ ‘Course, you could say she’s at her _worst_ then, but really, she’s something to see.” He sounded wistful. 

“That’s a really, really . . .” Bad idea, Xander meant to say. But he let the sentence trail off, because Spike was rubbing his chest more purposefully and . . . oh god . . . Xander was getting hard, and from the feel of it Spike was already there.

“Yeah, that’s nice, isn’t it?” Spike whispered into his ear. “Moping after her did me no good, but you . . . Showing up with a boy like you by my side, on my lap, posing and showing off, my pet . . .” He growled the last part and dropped his hand down to Xander’s lap.

“Spike, you really, really don’t want to get involved with me,” Xander said desperately even as he pushed his erection into the ball of Spike’s palm. “Oh . . . fuck . . . I’m bad news! I almost broke up Oz and Willow, and they’re totally in love, but I didn’t care -- I wanted her, so I had to tell her no matter what.”

“Go after what you want, do you?” Spike purred. He flicked open Xander’s fly and dipped his hand in to curl around Xander’s hard-on. “I like that.”

“Um . . . then I don’t go after I want?” Xander said helplessly. But neither of them was paying much attention anymore, as Xander’s body (stupid, horny body) moved after Spike’s touch like it was the best thing ever. 

“Like that,” Spike echoed himself. “Like _you_ , pet . . . you feel so warm . . .pretty thing, can’t wait to see you, all of you, when we’re in a proper room . . .”

And somehow Spike’s jeans were off, and his cock was sliding up and down in between the cheeks of Xander’s ass, and Xander’s idiot body liked that a ton, because he was pressing back, and working his hips into Spike’s groin and gasping as Spike pulled him off with expert touches.

“Oh fuck,” Xander bit out, and he was coming, feeling Spike coming on his skin and crying out in pain as Spike’s teeth sank into his neck. 

* * *

When he opened his eyes next, it was dark again.

But now he was lying on a bed, not a cushioned leather seat, and instead of light filtering through the black paint there was only the indirect haze of light from the parking lot.

“What --” he whispered hoarsely, sitting up so fast he started to sway. 

The night-table light switched on, showing Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze trained on Xander.

“The bite -- you turned me,” Xander said as his hand flew to his neck. “Wait . . .”

“Got you orange juice,” Spike said in a gruff voice. “ S’right there.” He pointed to the middle of the bed, and Xander reached out for the pint carton with a shaky hand.

He kept an eye on Spike as he opened and started sipping at the carton. Once he started he couldn’t stop, and pretty soon he was gulping the rest down while Spike watched his throat with an odd smile on his face.

“I’m not dead,” Xander said when the carton was empty.

“Not yet,” Spike answered.

“You didn’t turn me,” Xander said, hand over his heart to confirm its rapid beating. 

“Didn’t feel like it,” Spike said, his chin tipped up. 

“What’s going on?” Xander asked. He looked at his hands lying in his lap, then back up at Spike. “Hey, guess what? I feel like I was just asking you that question, oh, I don’t know, before you _drank my blood_.”

“And got you off,” Spike reminded him.

Xander groaned and flopped back down on the bed. “Why is this happening to me?” With every blink he felt more awake and less shaky, though wake-up by orange juice wasn’t solving some of the major problems in the picture. 

Spike grinned. “Because you’re --”

“If you say I’m pretty again, I’ll punch you as hard as I can,” Xander cut him off.

“Sure you will,” Spike said. His face looked serious enough, though the corners of his mouth quirked. “Would sting a bit too, I’d bet. Come on then. Let’s get you into the shower and get you cleaned up.”

Xander hesitated. He didn’t want to move if it put him closer to Spike’s fangs, though he was starting to wonder if he was safe at least for a little while if Spike hadn’t already killed him. Then again, safe and Spike were all kinds of wrong together, and not just because of biting. 

But a shower sounded really good, and maybe if there was a window in the bathroom he could wriggle out of it and run like hell.

It was only when he got in the tub and turned around to find Spike getting in right after him that he saw the flaw in his plan. It took about ten seconds for Spike to start soaping him up, thirty seconds for the two of them to start kissing. Then Xander lost count, only knowing it was a series of rapid heartbeats later before he was thrusting up into Spike’s fist and gasping.

This time when the bite came, he’d already turned his neck for it.

* * *

“This is the worst idea ever,” Xander exclaimed from the front seat. It was night again, and they were on the road once more. Hell, they’d even stopped for Blizzards, and Xander had contemplating spelling out H-E-L-P in chocolate sprinkles when Spike came sashaying over to the picnic table with an order of fries, and Xander’s stomach flipped over in the way it had only ever done with watching Buffy.

What that was all about, he didn’t have time to consider. They weren’t headed in the general direction of Brazil any more, assuming they ever were. Even though Xander had gotten a D in geography, even he could tell they were going east instead of south.

“Which part?” Spike asked as he drew on his cigarette.

Xander gestured between the two of them. “ _This_. Look, you can’t make me go with you. Wherever the hell we’re going. And if you’re not going to use me as your game piece in your wacky love war with Dru, why do you want me around still?”

Spike ignored the last part of his question. “Can so make you, if I want.”

Xander drummed his fingers on the arm rest for another few miles. “You’ll have to look away, or sleep, or something, sometime,” he said at last.

Spike arched one eyebrow. “You think vampires sleep?’

Xander cast a sidelong glance in Spike’s direction. All right, so he actually wasn’t sure about that part, the vampires sleeping bit. He hadn’t seen Spike sleeping, though to be fair, he had to chalk it up to his own blood loss. 

Spike’s face was blank, as though he was telling the truth. Had Angel slept? There was no way to know, unless maybe Xander could call him at the next exit. Though probably it would be better to tap out _save me_ against the receiver in Morse code first.

“Tell you what,” Spike said. His voice was low, and the way he spoke made Xander lean closer to hear him. “Why don’t we find another motel, and you can find out for yourself.”

“Like we’d actually sleep,” Xander scoffed. “I mean -- what with you biting me every time I turn around,” he added hastily.

“Like it, don’t you?” Spike asked as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. 

“Oh, no. You’re not going to trip me up on that. I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I’m still suffering from head trauma.”

Spike glanced at him, and then set his hand on Xander’s knee.

“You should be careful,” Xander pointed out. “You’re driving a monster-make of American car, and if we get pulled over --”

“Good advice,” Spike said. “I’m careful enough with the things I want.”

Xander cleared his throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

Spike grinned at the road, and started to move his hand up Xander’s thigh. “Now don’t you worry your poor traumatized head about it, pet. I happen to be a _very_ good driver.”


End file.
